Hello everyone! I just wanted to share with you the first chapter of my brand new (and first ever) fanfiction! So far this is all I have, but I have a general idea of where I'm going with it (eventual Daryl x OC), but for now, I'm all written out. Also, I'm going to try to follow the show as much as I can, but unfortunately, this is as far as I've gotten in TWD so far. Finally, I might change the name of this fic later (I can never pick a name for my writing until I'm done, so that makes this a bit difficult). Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!
P.S. This starts in 4x09, after the Governor attacked the the prison again… And of course, SPOILER ALERT.
I can remember it now, the cold of the hardwood flooring against my bare skin where my shirt had ridden up as I frantically dragged my baby cousin along with me, pulling us under the large queen bed of the gorgeous master suite. A spider crawled across a cobweb an inch ahead of me. My heart pounding against my ribcage, I held my breath, praying that whoever had just entered couldn't find us. Mason began to whimper next to me. In a panic, I rapidly clapped my hand over his mouth, whispering in his ear to be quiet. I held my breath as I heard footsteps falling lightly on the wooden floor of the entry way downstairs.
After what felt like hours, I heard one man say something to whomever came with him. This was soon followed by loud yells, and I felt my heart lurch as they sounded, each punctuated by a loud thump, as if someone were stomping on the floor:
"Hey asshole!" Thump. "Hey shitface!" Thump. "Hey-!"
The last yell was interrupted, as the first man yelled to the second, "Watch your mouth!" The second man responded, and the two continued to make their way through the house. My heartbeat began to pick up again as one of the men began to make his way up the stairs, not bothering to hide the sound of his coming. The tension grew thicker as he continued, coming closer to my hiding space. I held my breath, closing my eyes tightly as the hinges on the room's door squeaked. I let it out in relief when the sound of his footsteps began to move further away.
I remained under that bed for what felt like hours, desperately hoping not to be discovered. I tried to think of a way of escape, to no avail. When I finally heard the sound of furniture scraping against the wood floor downstairs, I knew there was no hope of escaping anytime soon. I looked over at my little cousin only to discover that he was already well on his way to sleep. Not removing my hand from the boy's mouth, I closed my eyes, allowing the built-up fatigue of three days spent fighting off walkers with no chance for sleep to claim me. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the sound of muffled conversation downstairs.
The next thing I knew, I was jolted awake by the sound of a distant gunshot, soon followed by four more. Immediately, my heart picked up it's pace, as I tried to register where I was and what was happening. Looking to Mason, I quickly noticed his wide eyes, filled with fear, and the tears streaming down his 1 ½ year old cheeks. He began to whimper again, reaching for me as I quietly reminded him that we must stay quiet and clamped my hand over his mouth once again. I lay there silently, hearing nothing coming from downstairs, where I believed the men to have taken up residence. After debating with myself a few seconds, I determined that now would be the time to go for it. Just as I began to emerge from underneath the bed, I heard a door close. My heart skipped a beat as I slid back under the bed, beginning to cry in desperation.
I heard the second man begin to speak, the sound slightly muffled, making it difficult for me to understand what was being said. After several moments of speaking, his voice began to raise until I could hear him. He began to scream at the first man about how it was his fault. "They counted on you!" he screamed. "You were their leader!"
As I watched Mason through tear-blurred eyes, he removed his face from where he had buried it in my neck long enough to take note of the tears streaming down my face. I watched as these tears, which were born of desperation, created an even deeper terror in his large, sweet eyes. Then, he opened his mouth underneath my palm and began to wail at top volume. I pulled him even closer into my embrace, as I frantically tried to calm him. I heard footsteps move their way up the stairs, terror filling my own soul, as I knew that there would be no escape for us. The door creaked open, and filthy, boot-clad feet approached the bed slowly, filled with caution and precision. Then I heard the voice of the second man calling out.
"Come on out, now," he commanded, firm and gruff. Knowing I was out of options, I slowly slid from under the bed, Mason in my arms, his face buried in my neck once again, as he wailed. "Now get up - slowly." I began to stand, carefully taking in the intruder's appearance. I was shocked to discover that he was, in fact, not a man, but a boy, a few inches shorter than I, with shaggy light-brown hair, and clad in a pair of hiking boots, dark jeans, a blue and gray baseball shirt, and an old worn-out stetson. I was equally as shocked to discover the gun he held, pointed directly at my head.
Filled with alarm, I managed to stutter out, "W-w-who are you?"
"Carl Grimes," he responded.